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Great Apes Will Self Will Self 9780802135766 Books

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Great Apes Will Self Will Self 9780802135766 Books

I have never been inparted with 'Grnn' any of Will Self's previous books. So I can't sign much about the 'euch-euch' cuffing he has received from critics in the past. But through my introduction to Self in this novel, I am thoroughly impressed with the efulgence of his ischeal pleat and submit to his literary suzerainity. Why do humans bash Self, 'huuu'? His effectiveness in taking up such a difficult task is ample evidence of his skill. Yet with all the potential he has for a devastating critique of modern society, he is modest. Amis' "Times Arrow" comes immediately to my mind in parallel, as well as T. Boyle's satire. Both those artists reserve a much more serious tone in their critique of western civilization. Yet Self maintains a delicate balance hovering around the personal which lends itself to extension without ever losing the pure joy of his parallel universe's perversions of what humans consider natural. Self's chimps are not locked inside their own minds as are humans. They quickly resolve their existential dilemnas with a quick mating or a brutal yet brief brawl. And for this, the world of chimpunity has no use for weapons. What chimps lack is sexual attention from their parents. Such a world! Self could do worse than to extend and expand in such fertile 'euch-euch' terrian. I for one would like to see more. For now, a hearty HoooGraah! Self is my kind of chimp.
(updated from my anonymous review)


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Great Apes Will Self Will Self 9780802135766 Books Reviews

Self's final book from his drug induced phase, before he went clean. And it's as packed with ideas, language riffs and gags as any of his best fiction. Self uses the conceit that the beasts with which we share 98% of our DNA are dominant in a version of London that is similar to mid 90's London, and hapless artist Simon Dykes awakes after a night of toxic and carnal debauchery with the delusion that he is human. He is taken up as a case study by the unscrupulous chimp psychiatrist Zac Busner (a familiar character in Self's fiction) who experiments on Dykes with the aim of making his own name.

Self's conceit is a brilliant one to send up many of the foibles and delusious of what he calls the 'self enclosed humanism' of trendy metropolitan types. The sophisticated veneer that veils squalid sexual desires. The rumbunctious lovemaking of young Londoners - snaffling down on each other's pongid scrags. The pant hooting, brachiating, 'uu-graaa' noises that don't really seeem that different from the movements and sounds of human London.

Basically Self wants to explode the myth that there is something unique and distinctive about humankind. We are nothing but beasts, with the rest of the animal kingdom, and the sophisticated hierarchies and systems we set up are nothing more than incarnations of the Alpha, beta and gamma tiers of the ape kingdom. Like Swift, Self uses gags, outrageous conceits - and a lavish dose of visceral language - to come at society from a unique angle. And send it up with much needed ruthlessness.
Given the obviousness of the device, the satire here should have been a slam-dunk, but somehow it was not as focused and pithy as it might have been. There were a few moments of clever insight where our human world was cast in a new and unflattering light, but generally just a lot of scatological humour, sex/violence, constant incest (for which I haven't been able to find much confirmation in studies of chimp behaviour) etc, and heavy-handed on the moralising (zoos, compounds). It felt (as others have said) rather like the author was indulging himself in a macabre romp through chimp-land, and he seemed to confirm it with the anticlimactic ending, where the whole 'human delusion' is dismissed by the chimps themselves as a satirical device. Self-referentially self-referential, but the reader is left feeling a bit used. Also agree with other reviewers that the first 90 pages or so in the human world could have been cut down to 20 without any loss of impact. It all quickly got very familiar and the language was too convoluted, no escape from the author's effortful voice competing with himself to use the most obscure descriptors. Felt no empathy for or interest in the characters' fates, but perhaps that's a symptom of my own human-centrism more than the author's lack of characterisation. Ended up skipping around the book looking for gems rather than reading start to finish.
so again, i bought this book for english class assigned reading. this book has so many words that you can't figure out unless you have a dictionary with you. The only impression this book gives me is that in that ape world. having sex is the only thing universal and everyone likes to do it, even with their own daughters (
I've been reading it two months and only in chapter 10. the only reason I'm still reading is because I pais $$ for it but this is the most disapointing book i have ever read 😦
Will Self doesn't need the addition of my words to support his universe. Perhaps one of my works compounded in the Otago Museum ( Dunedin.New Zealand) can offer something up instead -
This is a pretty twisted offering from Will Self. He delights in displaying his awesome vocabulary in the same a way that a young child will do something disgusting to shock. If a suitable word does not actually exist it's no impediment...he makes one up..and it works.
If you like shock value go no further and I'm sure greater minds than mine will find plenty of depth and satire. Freak out your bookclub and get them in to this!
I have never been inparted with 'Grnn' any of Will Self's previous books. So I can't sign much about the 'euch-euch' cuffing he has received from critics in the past. But through my introduction to Self in this novel, I am thoroughly impressed with the efulgence of his ischeal pleat and submit to his literary suzerainity. Why do humans bash Self, 'huuu'? His effectiveness in taking up such a difficult task is ample evidence of his skill. Yet with all the potential he has for a devastating critique of modern society, he is modest. Amis' "Times Arrow" comes immediately to my mind in parallel, as well as T. Boyle's satire. Both those artists reserve a much more serious tone in their critique of western civilization. Yet Self maintains a delicate balance hovering around the personal which lends itself to extension without ever losing the pure joy of his parallel universe's perversions of what humans consider natural. Self's chimps are not locked inside their own minds as are humans. They quickly resolve their existential dilemnas with a quick mating or a brutal yet brief brawl. And for this, the world of chimpunity has no use for weapons. What chimps lack is sexual attention from their parents. Such a world! Self could do worse than to extend and expand in such fertile 'euch-euch' terrian. I for one would like to see more. For now, a hearty HoooGraah! Self is my kind of chimp.
(updated from my anonymous review)